Greater Govanhill speaks to Beldina Odenyo, a singer-songwriter based in Govanhill. Odenyo discusses her upbringing, work and connection to the area.

This photo forms part of Simon Murphy’s Govanhill series. To view more of this series, visit @smurph77

Interview by Rhiannon Davies

Beldina Odenyo is a singer-songwriter who performs music under the moniker, Heir of the Cursed. Her music blends jazz and folk, drawing inspiration from the likes of Nina Simone and Ella Fitzgerald as well as her own experiences. In recent years she has been involved with theatre including sound design, composing and writing. She is currently working on her own play which explores our relationship with death.

I grew up in a tiny ex-mining village in Dumfriesshire. I always say it’s where dreams go to die. It was pretty grim; very racist and very isolated. I couldn’t wait to leave.

I was born in Kenya. I lived there in a city called Kisumu and moved to Scotland when I was seven. It was a culture shock. I didn’t talk for many months and was in bad shape physically.

We were the only Black family for a good 50 miles around. I was the only Black kid in school when I started. So it was not very diverse at all. I always knew that I was going to be visible, so I didn’t let it make me cower. That would be admitting that you are an ‘other’. I had every right to hold my head up. It’s the other person’s problem if they don’t like me being there.

I don’t want to be bitter. They were children, they were ignorant and misinformed. They weren’t terrible people.

It did affect me deeply growing up. A lot was very visceral, very physical. Having put some distance behind it, I can look back and try to be philosophical. A lot of it is to do with Scottish exceptionalism and national low self esteem as well as fear of difference. It wasn’t personal, it was born of a greater issue.

I got my first guitar aged eight. It’s the same guitar I play now, 22 years later. I love the tone of it, the shape of it. It’s never let me down. It’s very heavy, but it feels like my armour. If I was going to get another guitar, I’d get exactly the same one. But it’s a mid-70s Japanese Vantage. So there’s not many of them around.

I’ve been gigging since I was 11. Writing and performing was a way to express myself. I wasn’t really listened to. I didn’t really talk a lot. Singing or writing about it was much easier.

Theatre has kept me going during the pandemic, while gigs haven’t been possible. I never imagined myself doing it, or even having an avenue into it, but it’s kind of taken over.

I’m quite a hermetic person. I like spending time by myself, but I liked having the option of being able to sit by myself in a café, to people watch, eavesdrop and experience life by osmosis, maybe bump into a pal when I’m walking through the park and see where the day leads me.

I miss being on stage. For me, it’s therapy really. Not being able to have that release or flex that muscle has been difficult. I did some online gigs, but as time wore on, I found it draining. Not having that immediacy, the exchange. When you finish, you're just back in your room alone.

I’m writing a play about our relationship with the dead. It explores how we treat people at the end of life, how we sort of shun them, and how much more elevated and celebrated the concept of birth is. Death is a rebirth, a community event.

My play is based around the death ritual that my tribe, the Luo, perform called tero buru. It’s a 14-part ritual that needs to be performed so someone can have a good death. They can go on for years. People have to come from different parts of the country to hold vigil with the dead.

I’ve had a lot of grief in my life. I lost my mother and sister in the same year, and then my father by the time I was 21. I’ve always been fascinated with death and how people treat their own death. I’m someone who writes their own will regularly.

I’m training to become a death doula, and an end-of-life practitioner. A death doula supports someone at the end of life, holds space for them. They help with a range of things, both practical and emotional.

The Luo people are one of the largest tribes in Kenya. There’s a long musical history and tradition of poetry and orators. There’s definitely something to be said about there being an ancestral thread.

My heart belongs to Govanhill. I lovingly call it the Scottish Harlem. It’s got this vibe about it – very eclectic, edgy. It encompasses everything about Scotland in such a small area. McNeill’s pub is an incredible place to spend time, randomly picking up a guitar, having a pint of Guinness with Kenny, then leaving and going to get a shawarma, bumping into someone and going to The Dancehall at The Rum Shack.

In Govanhill, I feel visible, but not seen. I’m just another brown face here. That felt very liberating when I first moved. Govanhill felt very progressive and it felt like home.

This interview was first published in Issue 3 of the magazine